The Man Who Makes People Better
by Jed Rhodes
Summary: He is the Doctor, the man who makes people better, foolish wanderer, Time Lord, Ka Faraq Gatri... but right now, here, he is nothing but doomed.
1. Day One

This story begins with the 900 + year old Time Lord known as the Doctor, a man who, in this, his eighth body (the Time Lords being able to regenerate their physical forms whenever their bodies ran out of steam), was young, had curly brown hair in a sort of mullet, which was extremely messy, and wore an Edwardian-style outfit that was actually a costume from 1999 America (Wild Bill Hickok - the Doctor had met him and found him polite but slightly annoying). He travelled through time and space in a machine called a TARDIS, which was bigger on the inside than it was on the outside, had infinite numbers of rooms (although he stuck to his control room) and looked on that outside rather like a police telephone box.

One day (day being a relative term within the confines of a machine travelling outside of time) the Doctor was going through his videotape collection one day, when all of a sudden, he came upon a tape he had never seen before. This tape was unmarked save for a word; copy - printed on a sticker, in no box. He vaguely remembered something about it but… no, he lost it. He could not remember for the life of him. The amount of memories he had lost in his time… but that was another story.

He picked it up, and shrugged.

"Unmarked tape… ok, best watch it."

It was, in retrospect, perhaps not the best move he could have made.

--

He went to a nearby video player in his lounge, which had a sofa, an armchair, and, and , pushed the tape in, and pressed play.

There was a glowing white ring, then static. He raised an eyebrow. Suddenly, there was an image of blood in water, then a chair, then a comb running through someone's hair. Then there was a mirror; and a woman in it, smiling; then the mirror jumped to the other side of the wall it was hung on, and a little girl whose hair was covering her face, then back again.

As yet more disturbing images came up, the Doctor faded out a tad, uninterested; until the woman looked right at him. He stopped the tape, and gazed at her for a moment; because you see, there is a difference, as anyone knows, between the eyes of someone looking at a camera, dull and distant as they are, and the eyes of someone who is gazing right at you. He gazed at the tape, and she seemed to be alive; breathing even as he watched.

"Who are you…?" he asked. But the tape did nothing; just those eyes stared.

He continued the tape, and watched yet more disturbing imagery; he was shocked to see a woman fall off of a cliff.

Then the tape ended, and the Doctor took it out, and headed for the console room.

Ring, ring.

A phone was ringing.

Ring, ring.

He went to the TARDIS' phone, and picked it up; nobody had this number, it was strange. Then a voice, inhuman, calm, collected, and of course it would be terrifying to any human being, came down the line; a child's voice, he noted with interest.

"Seven days."

The line cut off with a snap.

"What?" he said, looking at the phone. He pressed the re-dial button. After a long moment, the phone answered.

"Who is it?" a cheery voice came - a female voice, American accent.

"Oh, hello," the Doctor said, smiling, throwing the charm on. "I'm the Doctor... Doctor John Smith. To whom am I speaking...?"

"Oh," the cheery voice replied, less cheery now. "I'm Anna Morgan... is this about my daughter...?"

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. A daughter... a child? Yes, that made sense.

"Actually, I was hoping to speak with her," he said. "Would that be alright?"

"Oh..." Anna sounded flustered. "Well... yes, I suppose."

"Good," the Doctor smiled. "Please put her on."

There was a moments silence.

"I think it might be better if you came here, Doctor," Anna said. "Can you do that?"

"Certainly," the Doctor said. "If you wouldn't mind just telling me your address...?"

She did.

"And the date?"

"Thirteenth of September," she said, sounding slightly nonplussed.

"Yes, sorry," the Doctor said, "I lose track... and the year...?"

She sounded suspicious when she said 1975, but now the Doctor knew everything he needed to know.

"I'll come round when I have time," the Doctor said. "Thank you, Mrs Morgan."

He put the phone down. And then he started speaking to himself.

"So some girl calls the TARDIS, says 'seven days' and the number traces to a house I've never seen, and a family I've never met," he summarised. "Add in a strange videotape, and we've got a mystery."

Then, in a brilliant (he thought) Sherlock Holmes impression, he smiled.

"The game is afoot."

-

It was a nice, normal house, insofar as the Doctor could tell. Not that he knew much about normal houses. He walked up to the door, and knocked.

A man – stern, with a face like granite – opened the door, and looked at him for a moment, taking in the Doctors eccentric appearance.

"Hello," the Doctor smiled. "I'm Doctor John Smith."

"Anna!" the man yelled. "A Doctor is here!"

The Doctor kept a patient, polite grin on his face – hiding his shock as Anna Morgan came down the stairs; she was the woman who had gazed from the television screen.

"Hello," he said, slightly breathlessly.

"Dr Smith?" Anna said.

"Yes," the Doctor smiled, his blue eyes twinkling. "Sorry, I was delayed…"

"You only called half an hour ago," Anna told him.

"Of course," the Doctor bluffed. "But I meant to be here sooner. Anyway," he breezed… "where's your daughter…?"

"Upstairs," Mr Morgan said.

"I see," the Doctor smiled. "And her name?"

"Samara," Anna said.

--

She had long black hair over her face, and she wore a simple white dressing gown.

"Hello," the Doctor smiled. "You're Samara if I'm not mistaken."

She said nothing.

"I was wondering if the term 'seven days' meant anything to you."

Nothing.

The Doctor crouched down by the girl, and looked her in the eye. Suddenly, to his own surprise, he felt a tremor in the time space continuum (damn Time Lord powers) and he glimpsed her face; but dessicated, dead and mottled. Then he glimpsed a well again.

She looked at him, and her face was pale, but alive.

"You're gonna die," she said.

"Oh yes," the Doctor said, smiling. "I know. One day."

"No," she said. "In six and a bit days."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow.

"I see," he said. "And you know nothing beyond that?"

The girl said nothing. The Doctor didn't move for a moment, then he smiled and left her to it.

--

He said goodbye to the Morgans

"I'll come back when I have more information," the Doctor said to Mr and Mrs Morgan. "I'll admit, she isn't normal, but she could be much worse."

Mrs Morgan seemed about to say something, but Mr Morgan spoke before she could.

"Thank you, Doctor," he said, a forced smile on his features. "Thank you. Be sure to do that."

The Doctor nodded politely, and then left them to it. He already had some clues. Now all he needed to do was find out when that tape was from, look it up, and then he'd be able to work it out.

Six and a bit days. you're going to die. These words ran through his head as he considered his next move.

Copy.

The tape would have markings somewhere that said where it came from. And when he found out where; he's find out when.

And when he found out when, he's be able to stop it. Stop what he wasn't sure, but he felt certain that he was about to enter something that he should not have entered.

When did he get that tape, he wondered? It might have been when he was Dark And Manipulative; Dark And Manipulative made it his business to do things as he saw fit, alter time, interfere, meddle; and this sort of thing might be right up his street.

The Doctor went to work.

And behind him, somewhere, a short man in a dark brown coat, a strange jumper covered in question marks (one for every question he had to answer before he died) a panama hat, checked trousers, shirt and tie, watched him go. Then he turned to see the house where Samara lived.

"Six and a half days," he said. "Six and a half days. Oh, come now," he smiled, raising an umbrella with a question mark shaped handle and placing it on his shoulder. He turned away from the house, and turned; to find himself facing a dead girl.

"You shouldn't be here," he said to her.

"And you should?" the low, whispery voice replied. The man actually laughed.

"Come now," he said. "I'm not afraid of you. And neither is he, in point of fact."

"He should be," she said.

"He should be," the man nodded looking up at the sky wistfully, "but we never were very easy to scare."

The girl said nothing. He tuned, and found she was gone. He looked back at the Morgan's house, and saw Samara – the living one – looking down at him. He tipped his panama hat to her, and then he turned from the house.

No regrets.

He walked away.

--

The tape, the Doctor realised, came from 2003. Nice year. Slightly dull.

He flicked a few switches on the TARDIS console, and smiled. He wasn't finished yet. Six days, roughly.

Oh, and he didn't need sleep.

Thank the powers-that-be for being a Time Lord.

He looked up, and suddenly he had a vision of a girl in a tattered white dress with long black hair standing there, in his TARDIS.

"Hello, Samara," he said.

She said nothing. He walked right up to her, and then she was gone; he hadn't even noticed her vanish until it happened.

"Fascinating," he said. "You can even get in here," he added. He sighed, and went back to pressing buttons. "But all that means is I've got to find out how to deal with you."

--

It was a normal enough street, he ruminated, but the copy came from a store and the store had sold it to the woman who lived here.

He knocked on the door of the house, and a woman answered.

"Are you Rachel Keller?" he asked her. The woman was blonde, pretty, and looked reasonably clever.

"Yes," she said slowly, taking in his outfit.

"Oh good," the Doctor smiled. "I was rather hoping you might be."

"Would..." the woman hesitated. "Would you like to come in?"

"Oh, yes please!" the Doctor smiled. "I'll have some tea if you have any as well, please..."

With a nervous glance around, Rachel let him in, and closed the door behind him.

--

**Five days, 20 hours.**


	2. Day Two

The Doctor got straight to the point.

"Samara Morgan," he said. "Little girl, long black hair, sort of dead…"

Rachel looked horrified at the very mention of the little girl.

"You… you watched the tape?" she said.

"Found it in my video collection, didn't know what it was, and watched it," the Doctor smiled. "Call it bad luck."

"Call it you're dead," Rachel snapped. "And now you've brought it here…"

"Nope," the Doctor smiled. "I came here because you bought the tape she was copied to."

"How do you know that?" Rachel asked, suspicious. The Doctor held up his psychic paper, and made it say FBI. Rachel gazed at it, shocked and scared.

"Oh no," she said. "But… I made that copy a year ago, and I gave it to someone else."

"Who?" the Doctor asked.

"A man… short, dark haired," Rachel said. "Stupid pullover."

The Doctor nodded thoughtfully, but in his mind, it snapped.

Dark And Manipulative.

"Why couldn't it have been teeth and curls," he said, more to himself than Rachel, and it showed – she looked puzzled, confused. The Doctor, meanwhile, kept thinking about D&M, and thought back – what did he want? What mission had he heaped on his own future…?

"No," he murmured. "No, he didn't. Oh, he did not…"

"What's wrong?" Rachel asked.

"How did Samara die?" the Doctor asked her.

"Uh… she was murdered in 1976," Rachel said. "By her mother."

"How?" the Doctor asked, endeavouring to keep calm.

"Thrown down a well," Rachel said. "It took her seven days to die."

"Where is that well?" the Doctor asked.

"I don't think," Rachel began…

"That it's important?" the Doctor snapped. "Trust me. For me, and every other victim of Miss Morgan – it's a matter of life and death."

--

He practically knocked the door in, and burst in to see Anna staring at him.

"Where is she?!" he yelled. "Where's Samara?!"

Anna didn't answer him. Richard bolted down the stairs, but the Doctor didn't care.

"I see," he said. "How long?"

"Uh…" Anna said.

"How long?!" the Doctor yelled. Richard came at him.

"Don't you yell at my wife…!" he yelled. The Doctor blocked his hand, stared right at his eyes, then snarled and threw the man across a room.

"How long since you threw her to her death?" he asked, perfectly calm.

"Three days," Anna said. The Doctor narrowed his eyes, then, to both the Morgans' surprise, he grinned.

"Thank you for your cooperation," he said. "As you people always say – have a nice day."

--

Samara had given up. She didn't know how long she had been down here, trying to live. She didn't really care anymore.

She was going to die, in darkness and loneliness, and there wasn't a thing she could do about it.

She had screamed herself stupid, until her throat was sore and she could barely whisper. She had no fingernails. She was damp, cold and she felt like she was dead already.

Then, unexpectedly, a light.

"Hello!" a voice yelled. "Hello! Samara! Are you down there?!"

She couldn't yell, but she splashed. Splashed as if her life depended on it. As indeed, it may well have. Then, to her great surprise, a rope ladder descended, with a laminated card on it – and a message.

"All aboard for light and life."

She grabbed it, and suddenly, she flew.

--

The Doctor checked her over. Her face was pale, her hair was lank, and she looked dead as a doornail, but she was breathing. Her fingernails were gone – he took the sonic screwdriver from his pocket and started re-growing them rapidly.

"There now," he said, "you're alright. Alright…"

He picked her up, and ran for his ship.

"You'll be alright…"

Her eyes were closed – she was going into shock if he knew anything about medicine, which, being a Doctor, he did – sort of. She was murmuring under her breath.

"It… it won't stop…"

"I wouldn't worry, Samara," the Doctor smiled, as they reached his miraculous machine. "I'll make it stop."

--

When she finally found the courage to open her eyes, she found herself on a sofa, a cup of hot cocoa next to her on a table – and her music box, polished and oiled so it played better. She turned her head to look sideways, and say a pipe-organ, sitting next to a wall, as if it were meant to be there. Suits of armour, pot plants… and there, a massive… control console, hexagonal, brass and bronze, and there – like something out of a book, a man, dressed in old fashioned clothes, smiling, and flicking switches.

"Hello…?" she said, and her throat felt normal. He turned in an instant to look at her.

"Ah, hello!" he smiled. "Sorry, bit busy at the moment – bit of a tricky destination we've got here."

"Where are we going?" Samara asked, trying to stand. He was at her side in an instant.

"Don't move," he said. "You have to rest."

She slumped back ion the sofa.

"As it happens, Samara," he smiled, standing up and going back to his console, "we're going to my home."

"Where's that?" Samara asked.

"A long way away," the Doctor smiled, pressing a button – and stars appeared over the room, zooming in on an orange planet. "250 million light years from Earth, in fact. My home."

"What's it called?" Samara asked. The Doctor turned to look at her, and he smiled.

"Gallifrey," he said.


	3. Day Three

**Four Days, 19 hours.**

--

He took her to one of the manifold spare bedrooms that the TARDIS had, and left her to it, before heading back for the console room. Idly, he flicked a switch, and then he turned his gaze to his side.

Samara was there.

"Hello," he said to her. "What's wrong, the room smell bad…?"

Then he noticed her arms; cold, pale. Dead. Her hair was lank over her face. Her dress was tattered. She was holding something.

"You shouldn't be here," he said to the spectre. "I saved you. You're in the bedroom there, you can't be here, can't be dead…"

The ghost held up one of its hands, and then, a soft click alerted the Doctor to the presence of a pocket watch.

Not just any pocket watch – _his _pocket watch. No hands.

"Why are you…?" he asked, but then she was gone. He blinked. No, this must have been a mere… temporal echo. Yes, temporal echo.

--

Samara remembered him. It had been a year since she had seen him, and she had _known_ that he was going to die. She didn't know why, but she knew he was going to die.

"Doctor?!" she called. She had to talk with him. He was there in a moment – and she could tell he shaken.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"I just saw a ghost," he smiled, and it was forced, like her parents smiles often were. "But don't let that worry you, I see weird things all the time…"

"You didn't die," she said, matter of factly.

"Oh," he said. He seemed to have been anticipating this. "Well…"

"And this place… it's not normal," she added. "It's a space ship, like in Star Trek."

The Doctor looked mildly indignant.

"Well, I think my ship is a little more complex than that hunk of junk the Enterprise…" he said.

"Who are you?" she asked him. He stopped for a moment, taken aback by the question.

"I'm the Doctor," he said at last.

"You're not like any other Doctor I've ever met," she said.

"I'm… not human," he managed.

"That's just a description," she told him. "What are you? Who are you?"

He sighed, mildly put out. Most people just stopped at 'Doctor'.

"Come with me," he said. "Little detour."

--

A field, somewhere, he didn't even know where or when – just that it was on Earth.

Samara looked around, and smiled at it. It was idyllic.

"This is Earth," the Doctor said. "Your world. Right now, beneath us, the entire world is spinning at a thousand miles an hour, and the whole thing is hurtling around the sun at sixty seven thousand miles an hour. I can feel that, right now."

She wasn't listening to him. Shame, he thought – it was a nice speech. Needed a bit of work. She was singing…

"#Here we go, the world is spinning. When it stops, it's just beginning. Sun comes up, we all laugh. Sun goes down, we all die..."

"Samara," he said, coming up to her, and kneeling down beside her. "Look at this."

He took out his watch. He had a horrible feeling that it was self fulfilling prophecy, but he held it up, and the lid snapped open.

No hands.

"I am a Lord of Time," he said. "My people live outside ticks of the clock. My people are the observers who make sure all things happen as they must. They must never change time. Never. Observe, do not interfere."

She stared at the watch, captivated for a moment. Then she asked the sixty five million dollar question.

"Did you interfere when you saved me?"

He straightened up.

"That's why we're going to my home," he said, leading her back to the TARDIS. "To ratify my interference and its necessity."

"If they don't like your interference," she asked, tentatively, "will I have to go back to the well?"

He looked her in the eyes, and they blazed with righteous purpose.

"I promise you, you will never go back to that well," he said. "Not while I can stop it."

As he said it, he had an image in his mind of the dead girl, the watch in her hand, no hands, like his own, and he shrugged it aside.

They went back in the TARDIS, and there was time for one last question.

"Why is it bigger on the inside?"

"Ah," he replied, as the doors closed. "I'm glad you asked me that.."

--

When the TARDIS arrived in a small secluded corridor – with about thirty capitol guards surrounding it, along with President Romana and her sternest face (leastways, the sternest face the second Romana could pull – the first one was better at that) – the Doctor took Samara out and held her before him, presenting her for all to see.

"You're in a lot of trouble, Doctor," Romana began.

"I'm glad you're here, Romana," the Doctor countered before she could continue. "I hereby announce for the test the candidacy of Samara Morgan," and this he pronounced as if it were one word. "She is of age and is of stern mind and true heart."

Now, this little ceremony went right over Samara's head, but to the Doctor, Romana and every guard, it was an announcement that he wished her to be taken before the Schism, the great maker-or-breaker of Time Lords. The Doctor's reasoning was clouded from all but himself; Samara's power had to be controlled, and if she were trained as a Time Lord, she would be come far more – stable, was the best word.

"Doctor," Romana said, "to submit her candidacy, you'd have to adopt her."

"Who says I won't?" the Doctor snapped at her. "I've been a father before."

"Regenerations ago," Romana said to him.

"Experience counts," he said. Samara looked up at him.

"You want to be my daddy?" she asked.

"Why-ever not?" the Doctor said, lightly, without even looking at her.

"My daddy didn't want to be my daddy," Samara said, slightly shocked.

"His loss," the Doctor said.

"Doctor," Romana snapped. "This is serious. You have altered multiple individuals timelines – extended them by considerable margins. That is major interference."

"If you want to put me on trial, just do it, don't talk me to death," the Doctor sighed.

"I'm not putting you on trial," Romana sighed. "It seems fairly self evident that no matter how may times we put you on trial, it isn't going to change anything. But we are going to put right what you changed."

The Doctor blanched, and even Samara understood that part.

"You're going to put me back in the well…?" she said.

Romana didn't even look at her.

"Romana," the Doctor said, his voice a warning. "I'm warning you. Don't push me."

"You might scare Daleks and despots with that, Doctor," Romana snapped, "but not me."

"Look at her, at least!" the Doctor yelled. "Look at the girl you would condemn to death and eternal suffering!"

Romana risked a glance at the frightened girl, and met her eyes. For a moment, her expression softened. Then it hardened to granite, and she looked back at the Doctor.

"I only see an anomaly to be corrected," she said.

"And you only see a human," the Doctor added.

"Yes – no!" Romana yelled, in denial.

"Don't insult my intelligence," the Doctor snarled. "Like all of us, you've come to believe only Time Lord life matters."

Romana bristled but, crucially, did not deny it.

"Fine," the Doctor smiled. "Samara, when I say run, run."

"You can't escape," Romana warned.

"I know," the Doctor smiled. He glanced around the corridor, then smiled even wider. "Left then right then right."

"What?" Romana snapped. Then the Doctor burst into action, hitting out and sending guards flying everywhere. The only word Samara heard over the din was "RUN!"

She belted down the corridor, the direction, the Doctors eyes had last settled; because she understood.

Left turn, down a corridor.

Right turn – down some stairs.

Another right turn, down a corridor, more like a cave than a building…

Then suddenly, she ran into an old man in long robes with a big, odd shaped collar.

"Don't run, child!" he said. "Now, are you here for the test?"

"Yes," she said instantly.

"Name?"

"Samara Morgan."

The old man looked up at her.

"New entry," he said. "Put down by – oh, my. Haven't seen that name since I was a young man. Calls himself the Doctor now, if I know my gossip."

"Yes, the Doctor sent me," Samara smiled.

"Well," the Time Lord said, sighing, "you're lucky you're the only one on for today. Come on."

The Time Lord led her off, to her destiny.


	4. Day Four

**Three days, 23.6 hours.**

**--**

He knew from the first thrown punch that he has failed. They'll get him.

He didn't mind.

"You…" Romana spluttered at him. "You… moron!"

"Four out of ten," the Doctor smiled, then he frowned. "When did I start channelling Borusa?"

"You did all this," Romana snarled, "for a stupid human child…"

"To save as many lives as possible," the Doctor snapped back. "Including hers. You once understood my motivations."

"You once made a modicum of sense," Romana snapped.

"Teeth and curls never once made sense," the Doctor snapped.

"I don't have time to argue with you, Doctor," Romana sighed, then she turned to the Captain of the guards. "Take him away, and put him in a _comfortable_ cell. Then find the girl."

The guard saluted, and the Doctor was led away, smiling disconcertingly.

--

It was dusty out here. She didn't like the dust, or the dirt. There was no one else here, apart from the old man, who looked deadly serious. What was going to happen to her? The Doctor, the man who had saved her life, had brought her here, and directed her here – but why?

If she had asked him, he probably would have just said 'seemed like a good idea at the time' which would not have comforted her – so it was probably a good thing he wasn't there.

And then it ceased to matter whether he was there. She walked forward, and saw a spiral of beautiful light, leading everywhere and nowhere – and then she blinked.

She was alone, in a white place. No – no, not alone. There was another little girl there. Long black hair over her face, white gown, tattered and ripped.

What was this?

"Hello," she said. The other girl didn't seem to hear her. "Who are you?"

_'Don't you know?' _the other girl seemed to reply.

Images of a well, of death, of broke fingernails, swept back to Samara, and she stepped back – and the phantom was right in front of her in a blink.

_'He messed with time. He always does. He's like that. Can't leave well enough alone. Can't let an injustice stand.'_

"I don't understand."

_'You're not here to understand, just to watch.'_

"The Doctor saved me. I'm not going back to the well."

_'But the Doctor doesn't know…'_

Samara felt a chill up her spine – those words were her words, and with a final confirmation, she reached forward, brushed her counterparts hair away, and saw – that face. Dead eyes, dead skin. A ghostly, gruesome leer of a smile.

"Does he?"

--

Snap.

The dusty ground, the Time Lord smiling at her.

She understood.

She would go back. Oh, the Doctor would fight, the Doctor would rail, but his time was drawing to a close.

She smiled back at the Time Lord. And then, she stood up, and walked to meet the guard who were looking for her.

--

He hated trials. He always had hated trials. They were boring, uncouth affairs where every segment of his life was dragged up.

Here, it was a very specific thing. Samara was smiling, alone, and he knew that her time was up. He had failed her.

How long did he have? Two days, ten hours, his body clock said to him. Not long enough.

"You stand accused of the most grievous crime our Time Lord race has ever known," Romana said. "Interference that has caused an immense shift in the time lines."

"To hell with the time line," the Doctor snapped. "I did what was right."

"No, you didn't," Romana said. "You did what was wrong. Prosecution."

"Samara Morgan is a level six telepath, telekinetic, and evolved form of human," the prosecutor, Carnol, a small, pointed nosed Time Lord with a mop of fair hair, said snidely. "Upon her death, her mind and psychic essence continued to exist, and became a viral killing phenomenon. From the day of her physical death, to the day her curse was finally stopped, approximately five hundred and fifty five thousand years later, she threatened one hundred thousand million humans, Rigellians, Cybermen, Daleks, and Time Lords, killing one million of them, both directly and indirectly. Each of those lives has now been extended, with grievous effect – more harm than good," Carnol added, looking directly at the Doctor.

The Doctor looked up.

"But they were _saved_," he said.

"They were meant to die," Carnol snapped.

"They live," the Doctor said. "It is always, always better to live."

"No," Carnol smiled. "Samara Morgan only reached her full potential with her death."

"Oh yes, dying gave her a new leash of life," the Doctor said sarcastically.

"The judgement of this court," Romana intervened, "is that – quite frankly – it's pointless putting you on trial Doctor. Two administrations did neither lasted long afterwards. I won't commit political suicide. But Samara Morgan will go back to the well."

"When did you sell your soul, Romana?" the Doctor asked.

"What?" Romana snapped.

"Only I hope it caught a fair price," the Doctor said. "For what you got in exchange."

He smiled as he and Samara were led away.

"I got everything I ever wanted," Romana whispered.

--

Carnol grinned.

He had advised the judgement the Lady Romana had put forward. Wise, he had said. The Doctor was an annoying free radical, but he was one who worked for the benefit of Time Lord kind.

As research for this case, he had studied Samara Morgan's tape; but he had never watched it.

Curiosity was not one of the best known traits of a Time Lord. In fact, no Time Lord was curious. Why should they be? But Carnol wanted to see this tape. He was only in his third body – he was young, ambitious, and quite frankly, he hated his nose. And blonde was not his colour.

So let her come. Regeneration existed to counter death.

So he found a copy of the tape and watched, and wrote down what he saw, for comparison with the notes on the tape others had made – to check for temporal damage.

What he noted down troubled him.

--

_The ring._

_Static._

_Blood in water._

_A closed pocket watch._

_An open pocket watch – no hands._

_The Untempered Schism._

_Time Vortex._

_TARDIS console room, Victoriana theme._

_The well._

_Finger on nail._

_A man in a dark jacket outside a window, raising his hat in greeting._

_The same man, brooding on screen._

_The man, morphing, obviously screaming, though there was no noise._

_The Eighth Doctor, watch in hand – no hands, grim smile._

_Gallifrey skyline._

_Maggots, wriggling._

_People, wriggling like maggots._

_Plastic bag._

_The well, fading around you._

_Anna Morgan turning around, looking at you._

_Lamb with three legs._

_Screaming face._

_A man regenerating._

_Static._

_The well – a nine foot tall dark box, visible in the background, a shadowy figure in its doorway._

_Static._

--

That was not right, Carnol decided. He needed to speak with the President.

--

The Doctor was about to say goodbye to Samara. He knelt by her.

"I'm sorry I failed," he said.

"You couldn't stop them," she smiled.

"I could have tried," the Doctor sighed. "I should have known they wouldn't let you live. I should have run."

She hugged him, and he whispered into her ear.

"When the time comes, do it. I'll be waiting. Come a little early for a cup of tea."

He pressed something into her hand, and her fingers closed around it, and then she was gone.

--

In the well, three minutes after she had left, she looked up. Someone was closing the well over her again. In the last moments of limited light, she looked at the thing in her hand.

A pocket watch. The lid was open. No hands.

She looked up, and smiled.


	5. Day Five

**Two days, three hours.**

--

He watched her go, and closed his eyes.

"You are of course," Romana's voice came from behind him, "welcome to stay for a while."

He considered shouting at her, swearing at her, and leaving her here and going off to wait, but… no. Best to die at home. He had told Samara to kill him quickly when the time came. Let it happen if it was going to. Die at home.

"Might as well," the Doctor said. "After all, I am a dead man."

"What?" Romana asked.

"Didn't I mention?" the Doctor said. "I watched the tape. I have about two days left."

Romana blanched, but the Doctor ignored her and walked away, seeking solace. He doubted he would find it. He had, after all, left this place because there was no solace. No hope for adventure, no hope for change.

The Time Lords never change. They stay exactly the same, always and forever, dull, dreary, doddery fools. That was why he hated Gallifrey. He should never have brought her here. She had died anyway, and worse, she had died after the hope of new life.

_You want to be my daddy?_

_Why-ever not?_

_My daddy didn't want to be my daddy._

_His loss._

And now it was the Doctors loss. At times he still panged for his family, for his child, and his beloved Susan. How was Susan? Was she alright? Had she suffered the pangs of loss? Had she had children? Perhaps she was on her second form?

Bah, no sense thinking about such things.

--

He was asleep when he heard it.

"Doctor," a voice called. "Doctor, help me."

He recognised it a moment later. Samara's voice. What was it doing? He wasn't entirely certain he wanted to know. Still, he had heard the two words in tandem he never refused, so he got up, slipped his frock coat over his stripy pyjama's and walked along, waiting for the moment when doubtless his adrenaline would be shot through the roof.

There she was.

"Alright, I'm here," he said. She turned around, and it was the dead girl he saw. She reached out with her hand, and he reached out with his – and she grabbed his arm, and it burned…

And she was gone. He clinically checked his arm, and he noted that the damage was… not too bad. Not too bad at all. Merely a hand print.

Certainly not as bad as it would be.

--

"Madam president!"

Romana was not in the mood for Carnol, now. She doubted she ever would be.

"What is it?" she asked wearily.

"I watched the tape," he said, breathless from exertion, and she snapped her eyes to look at him.

"You did what?" she said.

"I watched the little girls tape," he said, "and it is not what it should be! The Doctor's interference has altered things already! The tape does not contain the content it should…"

"You're saying he messed up the timeline, even with her death?" Romana sighed.

"I'm saying there is no way of predicting what else might have changed!" Carnol said. "For all we know…"

"Practically, what has changed?" Romana asked.

"Well…" Carnol said. "Nothing. I got the message."

"So she still kills people after seven days," Romana asked.

"Yes," Carnol admitted.

"So you've committed suicide," Romana said.

"No," Carnol protested. "I planned on regenerating through the death."

"I have no idea if you thought about this," Romana told him, leaning in close, "but _what if you can't regenerate out of it?!"_

The pained look on his face told her that he had not considered this idea. In fact he looked scared.

"We have to…" he said.

"You dug your own grave," Romana said, sharply. "Like the Doctor did. Sorry, but you are dead. Goodbye."

She turned around, walked away, and left him spluttering. She couldn't deal with this.

--

Knock, knock, the door went, and the Doctor ignored it. He even ignored it when, to no one's great surprise, the Seventh Doctor walked in. Dark And bloody Manipulative him-spacking-self.

"You seem to have learned your lesson," he said.

The Eighth Doctor said nothing.

"You know," D&M said, "you seem remarkably calm, given the fact that your death is only a day or so away."

"One day, twelve hours," Eight said. Seven nodded.

"You know," he said, "I took the tape from Rachel Keller for a reason. Her son would have died."

"Why didn't you watch it?" Eight asked.

"I imagine you will understand, very soon…" Seven smiled, turning to leave. Faster than the eye could see, Eight got up, and slammed his younger self into a wall.

"You manipulated me into a position where I would break a promise to that girl, where she is going to die a horrid painful death," Eight said. "You… monster."

"If I am," the Seventh Doctor said, grinning, "then what does that make you?"

Eight sneered.

"The better man," he said. "Remind me to go to San Fran and give the gangsters who kill you a medal. And I'm really glad I kissed Grace."

"Is that the best insult you can come up with?" Seven asked.

"No," Eight smiled. "I want you to know – when you died, I locked you up, in a strong, strong box, and you'll never come out. Never while the Doctor is my name."

Seven blanched, then his expression hardened.

"I did what I had to," he said.

"Like hell," Eight said, letting him go. "You are scum. I'm ashamed I was ever you."

Seven snarled, then walked out, but turned around in the corridor.

"I'm not as bad as you imagine," Seven said. "You will see, if you only look."

Eight didn't want to know, and looked away. He glanced at his arm, then went to find Romana.

--

When he did, she looked up.

"You're leaving," she said.

"Rather die on the run," he smiled. "You know me."

"You know, I'm sorry," Romana said. "If I'd had a choice…"

"I know," the Doctor said. "The job's a bitch. Why do you think I never took it?"

Romana smiled.

"If you regenerate, come back," she said. "I'll want to meet Nine."

He smiled, bowed, and then headed down the corridor where his TARDIS was waiting. Adventure waited.

The end waited.


	6. Day Six

**One Day, Three Hours.**

**--**

Prepare to die. He had never had so much time before the end, now he thought about it. A few hours for Five was the longest, unless the knowledge that One was going to go around a week before the event, but no certainty.

He deserved to die.

In a selfish attempt to live, he had let a little girl die, in the belief that she would not.

He closed his eyes.

What was it he was looking for? There would be no redemption. He knew that guilt was to be the hallmark of Nine, this he knew, he remembered from when Seven knew everything about the future.

He knew how his own death was to be achieved.

He knew that Nine would be guilt ridden, Ten would be alone.

He knew that Eight would embrace the adventure. If he had known that Eight would die like this, he had never said.

What was it Seven had told him?

_You will see if you only look._

The Eighth Doctor closed his eyes. And he looked.

And he found something…

_Hello, little girl._

--

_Samara had expected to die, here. Alone, unloved, forgotten by everyone except the Doctor, who she knew was doomed to die – at her hand._

_"Hello, little girl," the shadow said. And suddenly, there was a light in the well, and shadowy eyes, blue and haunted, shone at her._

_"Remember me?" he said. "Man, hat, window?"_

_"Yes," she said, hands open, nails broken._

_"You've been trying to escape for a while, now, haven't you?" he said. "A long while. Why don't you sleep?"_

_"I don't sleep," she said._

_"You should," the man smiled. "I'm a Doctor. I know these things. Let me help you."_

_And suddenly, the blue eyes grabbed her. Grabbed her and didn't let go. She didn't breath – didn't need to. There was nothing but the blue eyes. Nothing but the blue eyes. Nothing… nothing… nothing…_

_But her mind reached out anyway…_

_--_

_And she stayed there, eyes wide open, even as his closed. He had a long wait ahead. He looked up, at the empty well. Behind it was the TARDIS. He smiled._

_And then he let out a long wail, and was still._

_It would be a long wait. But in the end, if the price for inaction was his soul – and his future's soul – then it was worth it, wasn't it?_

_Besides, it would only ruin this jumper. Had to be a good thing._

_--_

Eight's eyes snapped open.

"What?!" he yelled. "No!"

He stood up, and flicked a switch, searching through the list of time travellers that his beloved ship kept. Ace, Hex, Benny… and there she was – right before Sam. Miss Samara Morgan. Six relative years travel.

"What does this mean?" the Doctor wondered. He felt sure that if he only thought about it, it would make sense.

D&M had done some mad things in his life, but this took the biscuit. What had he done.

The Doctor checked the time. He had been meditating now for hours. It was the seventh day. Only a few hours to go.

Time to face the music.


	7. Day Seven

**Three Minutes.**

**-- **

She hadn't come early. He had the pot of tea ready especially, of course, because impeccable manners dictated that he should. Time seemed to slow down, as he considered what was about to happen.

Actually, now that he thought about it, he didn't know. What was about to happen? Would he simply drop dead at the appointed time? Unlikely – he knew Samara well enough to know that she had a sense of theatrics, hence the ghostly visitations.

Undoubtedly, it would be an interesting way to go. Not that that made him feel any better about the whole thing. After all, he had expected to live a lot longer than this.

Doesn't everyone? He realised that, in the end, his death had to come about sooner or later. Might as well be now.

One minute.

He tensed.

And then, the scanner screen burst into life. The spring upon which it was suspended stretched, and the little television touched the floor, and static filled the screen.

"What on Earth?" he wondered. "Or Gallifrey for that matter?"

And then the screen switched to a view of a well, in a wood – a shadowy box visible behind the trees. The Doctor raised an eyebrow.

Something had definitely changed.

And then she climbed out of the well. He saw the hair, then the body, and then she appeared, walking slowly towards the screen. Then, just as she reached the screen, he felt the urge to back away, an urge he surrendered to. He figured he knew where this was going.

She climbed out of the screen, stumbling slightly, then stood up. He stood too, and picked up the cup of tea on his desk and drank.

"Well," he said. "Get on with it.

Then the hair parted, and she looked up at him…

And she was alive. Smiling, even. Her dark eyes warm.

"Goodbye," she said. And then, as he locked eyes, memories flooded his mind…

--

Rachel Keller looked carefully at the two figures, suspended in the well. A man, with long, unkempt hair, a beard, and sodden jacket and jumper, and Samara, definitely Samara – alive? Whole? Was it possible?

Then the man's eyes opened.

"Oh, hello," he said. "Is it that time already? I say, would you get us out of here, please?"

--

The Eighth Doctor looked around. There was no sign that Samara had ever been here.

The old temporal lock trance he had discovered, and used occasionally, had served Seven well; it locked all the cells of one's body into the state they were currently in. In Samara's case, alive and whole. The Doctor had then waited for thirty years for Rachel Keller to find them.

And then…

The Eighth Doctor smiled as the memories returned.

And then the adventure had just begun.

--

The Seventh Doctor, the man called Dark and Manipulative, smiled, as the little girl wondered around the TARDIS.

This was the one good deed he hoped redeemed him in his future's eyes.

"Where are we going?" the little girl asked, looking at the buttons in awe, amazed to even be alive. The Seventh Doctor considered the question, thought about all his grandiose plans.

And ignored them

"Somewhere fun," he promised.

And he hit the big red button.


End file.
